Scars
by thandie-16
Summary: “He has more scars than she would have thought. Areas of roughness that are just a tad too dark, marring his relatively smooth skin.” John/Larrin


Title: Scars

Genre: Romance, Character study

Pairing: John/Larrin

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Wish I did. Alas I'm poor so there shall be no owning them.

Summary: "He has more scars than she would have thought. Areas of roughness that are just a tad too dark, marring his relatively smooth skin."

* * *

She had never seen John Sheppard this still…or really still at all. Not that she has known him all that long. It was really only a couple months ago that she had kidnapped (for lack of a better word) him, had him beaten and eventually freed him. Still, times change, that can be the only explanation why she is currently resting her completely naked body against his, enjoying the tired, sated feeling dancing throughout her.

The sex had been good, **really** good and not all that unexpected…at least for her (honestly, she thinks she will always get a kick out of the startled look John gave her when she had shoved him against the wall and stuck her tongue down his throat). She had finally gotten tired of the little dance they had been doing for the better part of a month.

Things had finally started to calm down in the rest of Pegasus, at least enough so that she could dock the ancient ship in Atlantis to get some much needed help in figuring out just what the hell that thing was capable of and how to get it to fulfil said capabilities. The Lanteans for their part had been only too happy help, or more likely, to get a good, thorough look at an Ancient war ship. Looking back now it probably wasn't such a good idea; she has scientists she hasn't seen in almost a week and Dr. McKay has become as allusive as a jejuna during a hunt, only appearing at random hours looking for food or ordering John to come and touch this or that and no you can't have a minute 'cause nothing you could **possibly** be doing is as important as this so move your lazy I ain't never seen a comb ass.

She adjusts her position on the too small bed, moving so that the light from the blue moon (which the Lanteans have given the oddest name that she can never remember and is also totally unnecessary since one is **clearly** blue and the other white) isn't landing directly in her eyes and more than likely doing horrid things like outlining her too pale skin. John on the other hand (who is lying on his back with an armed wrapped around her, eyes closed and so **still**)seems to have no quarrel with the strange moon, most likely because its light is giving his skin a peculiar glow. Making him look more like what her imagination always pictured the ancestors to be, rather than the gorgeous but human man he is.

She can't help the self-depreciating smile that forms on her lips. She knew this was a bad idea from the second she landed and he gave her what she has now learned is his 'Kirk-smirk', although she's not sure what it means. Now, here she is writing poetry about his beauty in her head. Eww. Still, she just doesn't seem quite capable of ignoring him mostly, she thinks, because he intrigues her. She doesn't really understand him in a way that's less 'You're from a different galaxy' and more 'You're John Sheppard'. Having now spent the better part of a month watching his motions and interactions with his own people she has come to realize that neither do they. He is a contradiction wrapped in an enigma and shrouded in mystery and for some strange reason, that complexity is appealing to her.

She shakes her head slightly, clearing it of the musings about Sheppard's attraction that she doesn't want to have, and refocuses on the here and now. She allows her hands to wander his skin, learning its contours: dips and valleys and ridges that she hadn't gotten a chance to learn before because it was all electricity and moans and get naked NOWs. But she isn't sleepy, not yet at least, and he hasn't made any move to kick her out of his space so she figures why the hell not?

He has more scars than she would have thought. Areas of roughness that are just a tad too dark, marring his relatively smooth skin. He has been a warrior (they say soldier, but that word just makes her laugh) his whole life she knows, and that type of life leaves its marks. Still, maybe it's the lazy smiles or graceful slouches that he does constantly, but there is a certain… innateness about him that just doesn't shout fighter. Not like Ronon and not even like most of the marines. She finds that she is curious about them, like she is about the rest of the man, but isn't sure she should ask. This isn't anything more than sex and Sheppard doesn't give the impression he speaks a whole lot about himself anyways.

Before she has made a decision the words are slipping out of her mouth like they have a mind of their own.

"How'd you get this?"

Her hand is tracing a particularly unnoticeable scar that starts at the back of his neck and weaves a thin line down the side, reaching almost his collarbone. He is silent for so long she's sure he's not going to answer her, until he does.

"There are about six billion people on earth. The stargate isn't public knowledge like on most of the worlds here, so there are six billion people stuck on one planet."

She can't picture it, that many people stuck on one planet… that many people period.

"Maybe because there are so many or maybe because they don't know what's really out there, there is always a war going on somewhere." He shifts slightly, the motion seeming more like uncomfortable fidgeting than trying to get comfy.

"I work for the United States Air Force, which basically means I go where they send me, either to fight their war or someone else's. I was in Columbia. Rebels there had taken several Americans hostage. They were sending in the SEAL's to get the hostages out but they needed a pilot to get them in." His eyes glaze over, like he isn't in bed with her anymore but somewhere back on his home world reliving this.

"We had a snitch. Someone warned them we were coming in but they didn't run. Decided the chance at getting a 'copter and a pilot was too good to pass up." She has questions, like what in the name of the ancestors is a "'copter" but she doesn't ask. She barely breathes really 'cause something in her tells her that this- John Sheppard talking about his past, his life is a rarity. One she should just enjoy.

"So we're there, doing the lurking in the bushes bit when they attack. Wasn't many of them but it was enough. Co-pilot and I managed to fight them off though. Radioed the SEALs, but it was too late. They already had the packages and were pretty much surrounded."

"What happened then?"

"Flew in, guns blazin' and saved the day. I hopped out to help when couple of the fighters managed to get our men surrounded. One of them took exception to my meddling and tried to slit my throat."

She smirks. "Well you are a slippery little bastard aren't you? Can't say I blame him though. I've wanted to slit your throat quite a few times since I've met you?"

He sighs dramatically, eye roll and everything. "Only because you were sexually frustrated and totally hot for me-OW!"

"Oh, so sorry. Did my elbow catch you?"

He mock glares at her but she only smiles. Refocusing her attention on the rest of his body. Since learning his mind seems a near impossibility she thinks she'll settle for this, knowing his body and why it is they way it is.

"What about that one?" She points to a rather nasty looking scar on his right knee that makes her want to wince in imagined pain.

"I was stationed at Hawaii for a couple months, air force needed a decent pilot to test out some new planes, and there is this sport called surfing. You paddle out into the water and wait for a good wave to ride in."

It's the stupidest thing she has ever heard but she nods sagely all the same, completely entranced by the excitement in his voice and the smile he gives her that makes her think 'John' instead of colonel or Sheppard.

"There was a hurricane way off shore and it was sending in some amazing waves. I caught a monster 20 footer and rode it almost all the way to shore. Closest thing to flying without a plane you can get. Wipe out was bitch though, water pushed me into a… particularly unpleasant piece of rock."

"Lemme guess… it took exception to you too?"

He just smirks at her and she can't help the answering grin that spreads across her face. The man is too attractive for his own good. Still she manages to tear her eyes away from his that practically glow green in dim lights of the room.

Her gaze drifts down his body to the scar that has held her interest for the majority of their evening. Even during the more exhausting part, which is saying something 'cause the boy has very talented fingers. It's not much to look at really, a thin pink line that starts about two inches below his navel and comes across to wrap around his right hip before dipping down again, but still it has managed to draw her attention to it and keep it there.

"And this?"

Her hands trace it over and over again, revelling in the too smooth skin that lines it and the occasional gasp she gets from John when her hand dips too low.

"I was in a car accident when I was a kid." And it's the tone of his voice when he says it, open and relaxed and so damn comfortable, that tells her there is much more to this story than he's letting on. It's the tone he uses when he wants no more questions asked without him saying anything openly discouraging. The tone that makes people believe that this is it and there's no more so go away now. It has never really worked on her but considering the fact that he's not so much melting into her embrace as lying unmoving and slightly tense she drops the subject.

She's about to ask about another one of his scars, meticulously cataloguing them and their stories in her mind, trying (in vain though it might be her mind supplies) to understand a little bit more about this man and maybe, just maybe get over this rather uncomfortable attachment to him she seems to be developing. But before another word can leave her lips she finds herself trapped beneath Sheppard, smirk firmly back in place.

"You know-" He says, lips attaching themselves to the spot just behind her ear that makes thinking infinitely difficult.

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you have a kink for scars."

She wants to tell him no. She wants to tell him she has a kink for his scars. She wants to tell him she's pretty sure she has a kink for him. Instead she rolls her hips and allows him to distract her from asking any more questions.


End file.
